Tonight, Yesterday
by teenage-dirtbag
Summary: What if Nate had come to Blair instead? Both vulnerable and alone, they hold on to the past and maybe, a future that can come from it.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Gossip Girl the show nor the book series.

**Tonight, Yesterday**

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"Motherchucker," Blair swore under her breath as she turned on the lights and blew off the candles. She tightened her robe to ward off the creeping cold, and angrily stomped into the bathroom to wash off the make-up she put on. She looked at herself in the mirror, hair cascading in soft chestnut curls, the robe of satin clinging to her body, her eyes that threatened to spill tears, and screamed. She threw a bottle of hand wash on the marble floor.

"Miss Blair," she heard Dorota call out. "Someone is here to see you."

Blair sat up, seeing her confused housekeeper peer into the bathroom. She wiped her face with a towel. Maybe he came back, maybe he wanted to apologize, to assure her... she got up and walked briskly—Blair Waldorf never ran—towards the foyer. What she saw surprised her.

"Blair," Nate said, his voice breaking. He was carrying duffel bags and a couple of pressed uniforms for school. "Can we talk?"

Blair's face softened. "What happened?"

"I just," Nate sighed, "I need to talk to you."

Blair nodded and led him to the living room. "Dorota," she said, seeing her come back with a couple of candles in her hand. "Place Nate's bags in the spare bedroom. And bring us some milk and cookies." Dorota took Nate's bags. "Chocolate, please," Blair smiled before Dorota left.

"Milk and cookies?" Nate asked, amused.

"Relax, Archibald," Blair got up, leading him to her bedroom. "I've got my stash upstairs."

"I promise this will only be temporary," Nate said as he followed her, "I hope it won't be much trouble—"

"Nate," Blair said, turning around. "You can stay here for as long as you like."

Nate smiled in reply. Upon entering the room, he saw that her sheets were the ones her mother reserved for the holidays. A vase of fresh flowers stood near the dresser. In the air was the lingering scent of candles. "Decked out, huh?" he observed.

"Dorota insisted," Blair frowned. "Hold on, I'll change."

Nate sat down on her bed, remembering the times he spent here. They would lay together, Blair in his arms and their conversations endless. _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ would be playing in the background and Blair would always kiss him whenever the movie ended. He felt for the carving he and Blair made when they were in ninth grade; he was pleasantly surprised that it was still there. Knowing Blair, she probably would have sanded it over when they broke up. Or she would have had the bed replaced.

Dorota came in, smiling kindly at Nate and placing the tray of food by the bed. "Tell me everything," Blair said, now in an old Yale sweatshirt he remembered was her dad's. She sat down next to him.

"I remember I used to hide out here when my dad and I got into a fight," he reminisced, "we would have our own slumber party. I remember the milk and cookies part," he bit into one as Blair poured some vodka on his glass of milk.

"We'd hide under the covers and try to tune out my parents' bickering," Blair added, taking a sip of her drink.

"Things were much simpler back then."

Blair looked at Nate and remembered the countless times they'd been to her room. He was the best boyfriend she could ever hope for; he never pressured her into anything she wasn't ready for, his words were always kind and he would look at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Don't you wish you could ever go back?" she found herself saying.

"Everyday," Nate said quietly.

"How's your mom?" she asked.

"She's staying in the Hamptons. She can't deal with any of this right now," he answered.

"And you can?"

"I'm her son; I was the heir to the Archibald business," he added sardonically, "whatever that was. I'm the only one she's got. I can't fail her."

"Nate, it's okay to be afraid," Blair held his hand and looked him in the eyes. "You _can_ save her, I don't doubt that, but you have to think about yourself. You're a high school senior. This isn't supposed to happen to you."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he vented out, his fists curling into a ball, frustrated.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help," Blair said, in a tone she only took with him. "We can figure this out. Together."

"How?" he questioned, skeptical.

"I don't know," Blair admitted, "but this is a start, right?"

Nate took a deep breath and smiled. "I'm sorry I had to crash here. With school, I couldn't go to the Hamptons, and I can't stay at Serena's because of—"

"Chuck," Blair said angrily.

"Exactly," he continued. "Hey, is something wrong?" he asked, noticing her face.

His face was gentle, his gaze piercing. Blair used to love it when he thought she was upset; it was when he was the most caring and most attentive. He had a milk mustache, she noticed, and she chuckled. "Of course not; _you're_ here now."

"Thank you," he said warmly.

"No," Blair countered. She was in her dad's old Yale sweatshirt, not in any expensive lingerie, and he looked at her all the same. "Thank _you_."

"Is your mom going to be okay with this?"

"Please," Blair shrugged off, "like she'll even notice."

"Yeah, like after your parents'," he stopped, realizing what he brought up, "divorce. I'm—"

"You want to watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?" Blair proposed, interrupting him. Maybe this was what they both needed. "Just like old times."

"I'd love to," he replied.

Blair stood up and set up her DVD player. She couldn't help but look back on what had just happened, on what she thought was going to come out of it... she looked back and smiled at Nate who was now lying in her bed, munching on another cookie.

"_Chuck Bass, I," she faltered, "will never say those words to you."_

Blair dimmed the lights as she heard the music swell, and the familiar figure of Audrey Hepburn came into view. She jumped on her bed and positioned herself beside Nate, who, she noticed, was much more relaxed than when he came in a while ago. "I love you," she said, looking up at him.

"I love you too," he replied, unsure of what brought it on. Maybe it was the movie, the vodka or the nostalgia, or maybe she really did mean it. He brushed off a stray strand of her hair and smiled.

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